


What is Owed

by ivoryandhorn



Category: Kuroshitsuji (Black Butler)
Genre: 100-1000 Words, Community: kuroshi_contest, Gen, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-09-20
Updated: 2009-09-20
Packaged: 2017-10-04 21:39:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivoryandhorn/pseuds/ivoryandhorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Promises broken and repaired.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What is Owed

**Author's Note:**

> **SPOILERS for the finale of the 1st season of the anime.** Though you could read this fic as set in a hazy post-manga era, too.
> 
> This was written for [kuroshi_contest](http://kuroshi_contest.livejournal.com) using the Week #6 prompt: The Future Ciel.

**1901  
London, England  
The residence of Lord Ciel Phantomhive**

Ciel was alone in his study, finishing his latest report to the Queen. It was one of several requiring his attention, all equally tedious and all demanding to be finished tonight, lest he end up working during his honeymoon. The mere thought of what Lizzie would do if he dared to bring paperwork on their tour of the Continent was more than he could bear—she had learned to use her zest for fashion as a weapon of evil, and Ciel barely managed to suppress a shudder at the thought of a vengeful Lizzie with the Phantomhive fortune at her hands as he blotted the ink from his last page.

"You are up late, young master."

"Tanaka, I hardly think I qualify as _young_ anym—" Ciel's voice died as foggy memory surface, and he slowly raised his head. At the mouth of his study stood a dark figure, an eerily familiar silhouette outlined by the hall's flickering candles. The figure glided forward, silent as a ghost, until the lamplight illuminated his neat, pale face. Ciel reached for his pistol, hand curling around the familiar grip, but after a moment he let it go.

"Sebastian?" he gaped. And indeed, it was his former butler, for Sebastian's mouth curved into that achingly familiar smile, a hint of contempt buried deep beneath its amiability. Ciel was suddenly angry, at Sebastian, at himself—for being so disconcerted, for being so relieved, for being so— "You have quite a bit of nerve, waltzing back into my office like that."

"Ah, but you did well without me, did you not, young master?" Sebastian leaned over the desk. He looked the same as he ever had, black coat neatly buttoned and belted over his habitual suit. His hair was as messy as ever—Aunt Frances would have had a fit, maybe even several. Ciel wondered why he'd ever expected the demon to have changed. "Your family and your humiliation neatly avenged without my aid?"

Ciel scowled. "Don't act so innocent." He jerked his gaze away from Sebastian's, shuffling the papers on his desk as if to say he had no time for Sebastian's games. "It wasn't as if I had a choice."

"Oh?" Sebastian seated himself on the edge of the desk, eyes still locked on Ciel, still _smiling._ "Surely you do not think me negligent enough to leave you completely unattended, young master."

Ciel's fingers were too slow, just brushing the edge of the notebook Sebastian whipped from amongst the papers on his desk. As he watched, Sebastian made a show of opening it and reading the lists of entries—the rows and rows of dates and remarks marked his growth like the rings of a tree, his childish script morphing into the confident hand of his adulthood.

"My, my," Sebastian said, raising the list with a single gloved hand. His red eyes flicked rapidly over the rows of dates and incidences, each description clinical and cold. He lowered it and looked right into Ciel's eyes. Ciel refused to look away. "Have you spent all this time watching for me, young master?"

"It is hardly appropriate for one's butler to abandon one in the middle of London while it's burning down around one's ears," Ciel snapped.

"Or perhaps you were waiting?" Sebastian wondered, as if Ciel hadn't spoken.

"Idiot, what could I _possibly_ have been—"

"Ten years ago you nearly died," Sebastian continued serenely. "It pleased me to let you go then. But I have come now to collect what is owed."

Ciel felt as if all the breath had been sucked out of him at once. "…You bastard," he said eventually. He snatched the notebook back, stuffing it into the deepest, darkest corner of his desk's drawers. "Tomorrow's my wedding day. You _knew_ that."

"Ah, yes." Ciel froze as Sebastian's fingers brushed his cheek. "You are to be given to Elizabeth Middleford in holy matrimony, under the eyes of God." Sebastian's fingers moved upwards, pushing aside the eyepatch Ciel had never stopped wearing, not once in ten years. "But God cannot give what does not belong to Him."

Ciel tugged his eyepatch the rest of the way off. It was a strange sensation, for his eye to be bare—when Sebastian had vanished he'd had even less cause to reveal it, and so never had. The sensation of Sebastian's fingers lingered on his face, as if they were still there, tracing the same path over and over again. "So now you come waltzing in to take it back."

In reply, Sebastian slid off his desk and walked around it. Ciel turned to face him, as Sebastain knelt on the lush carpet as a knight before his lord. He'd gotten his arm back, somehow, but Ciel barely registered it—after all he'd seen Sebastian do, it was almost a certainty that Sebastian would find a way to make himself whole again, Angela be damned. What hadn't been was Sebastian simply vanishing afterwards.

After a long moment, Ciel reached down, guiding his demon up and towards him. "Sebastian," he said, "don't you dare shirk this time. Fulfill your last order, like you're supposed to."

The lamplight threw shadows across Sebastian's eyes, making their ruby hue burn in the darkness. Ciel closed his eyes as he heard, for the final time, "Yes, my lord."


End file.
